


Whispers

by Blue_Pandas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Don't copy to another site, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, POV Outsider, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21865861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Pandas/pseuds/Blue_Pandas
Summary: Everyone at Interspecies Relations knows Tom Riddle despises Harry Potter. No one anticipates the fallout when Tom and Harry are ordered to go undercover as a couple.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 37
Kudos: 696





	Whispers

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the fantastic [trashgoblinwizardparty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashgoblinwizardparty).

Everyone knows a few facts about Tom Marvolo Riddle. First, he is the lord of his domain, a hub of information and analysts running field ops and digging out secrets of the worst people in the world. Second, despite all the power in his hands, Riddle is unaware that his codename at Interspecies Relations is Voldemort, and everyone else in the agency is involved in a group chat called the Voldemort alert. (Whoever said that large groups can’t keep a secret has never seen the sheer terror Riddle invokes. Some people don’t even dare speak of him aloud because there is a real chance saying his name will summon him like a demon.) Third, he is married. (The ongoing rumour is that his partner a robot because that is the only possible thing in the world that can keep up with his demands for perfection.) Fourth, he _despises_ Harry James Potter, field agent extraordinaire with an allergy to listening to the Technical Services analysts. 

Draco has a file in his hands to deliver to Riddle, and he has been standing outside the closed office door for the last ten minutes. He has run through dozens of scenarios, and all of it has led to one conclusion: he is so _fucked_. On the way up, more than one person patted him sympathetically with a promise to execute his will to the letter and tell his parents he died bravely in battle. The entire second floor and half of the first have emptied, everyone finding a reason to be as far away from Riddle as possible. 

There is no use trying to put off the inevitable. He is a Malfoy, and if he is to die, he will do so with his dignity intact and family name protected. Draco ignores the screeching in his brain urging him to run, run, _run_ and knocks on the door. 

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._ His heart pounds to the beat of his raps. 

“Come in,” the cold voice orders. 

Draco swallows. He wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers and grips the metal handle. It turns in his hands, a heavy weight that moves too slow, yet too fast. 

“Yes?” The handsome man arches an eyebrow as he looks up from his work. 

“I have orders from above,” Draco says. He hands over the manila file, the large **CONFIDENTIAL** stamped in red diagonally across. 

Riddle flips open the file. He skims the page.

Draco knows what he sees. He works in Technical Services, and they obsessively hunt down secrets. For the first time in his life, he wishes that he does not know. Ignorance is bliss and all. 

Riddle shuts it. “Is that all?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Has the agent been informed?” 

“No, sir.” Draco swallows. “Would you like me to arrange the debriefing?” 

“No. I’ll handle it. Dismissed.” 

He is not ashamed to say that he flees before Riddle can change his mind. The gods have looked at him and given him their favour. He lives to see another day. It’s a miracle, and Draco immediately opens his communication device to message the Voldemort alert and use his many accrued hours of sick leave. If anyone judges him for this, they can be the next one to face down Tom Riddle.

* * *

Daphne Greengrass could have been anything in her life, but she chose Technical Services because only the best of the best can get here. She is starting to regret that choice. 

The ping of the Voldemort alert sounds lightly from her communication device, and she pulls up the messaging screen. Daphne knows better than to let the alert show up on a banner without an access code; it would not do for a message to come at an inopportune time and allow Riddle to learn about his alert system. 

**I have travelled the depths of eternal torment and emerged victorious.**

Daphne looks up at the direction of Riddle’s office and sees the distinctive platinum blond man slipping his hand back in his pocket while walking briskly—a Malfoy would never lower himself to _run_—and decides it’s a good time for a coffee break. It’s just a coincidence that her preferred coffee shop is a block away from headquarters. 

Draco meets up with her close to the exit. 

“You’re alive,” she remarks quite obviously. 

He shudders. “I’m surprised too. Riddle said he’ll handle Potter.” 

Interesting, but maybe it should not have been as unexpected as Daphne found it. Riddle has never been one to shy away from work, however distasteful. 

She opens the Voldemort alert and starts a bet for how long Riddle will sit through the debriefing before walking out. 

* * *

**Good luck. May the gods look down upon you with great favour and grant you their blessings.** The post-it note is not signed, and Harry curiously looks inside the file, wondering how bad the next job can be. 

The moment he reads it, he knows _exactly_ how bad the job will be. What idiot thought Tom belonged in the field? 

Tom likes being in control, and he has that—as long as he stays within Technical Services. Ops are unpredictable, and being in the field means being able to quickly adapt to unforeseen circumstances. Tom is going to hate this. 

Harry wonders if Tom knows yet and whether he should try to spare some unfortunate soul from delivering the news. It’s worth it, in any case, to stop by Technical Services and see if Tom’s free. 

It is a little-known secret that Tom has a sweet tooth. Harry stops by the café to buy a chocolate-glazed donut with sprinkles and notices a dark-haired woman sitting in the corner table with a shaken blond man. Both are excellent Technical Services analysts obsessed with work, and Harry wonders what could have happened to drive them out of their <s>evil lair</s> department. There’s only so much that can stop a workaholic from their obsession, and he figures he has the answer to whether Tom knows. 

Eyes stare at him as he walks past the desks on the ground floor of the TS division. Whispers brush past him. Harry ignores it all and walks up the stairs to knock on Tom’s closed door. 

“Yes?” the snappish voice bites out. 

Harry pushes the door open. Closing it behind him, he drops into a seat across from Tom and offers his bribe. 

Tom takes it. The monster is appeased for another day. “I take it you heard,” he says, a smidge less irritated.

“Just now.” He grins. “I thought we could talk about what we’ll do. Will we hold hands in public? I can play the dotting partner. Kisses on the cheek? Lips? Tongue or no tongue?” 

“Get out.” 

Harry laughs and walks out before Tom can throw something at him. Every op makes him excited at the possibilities, but this one makes him almost…giddy. A fake relationship? With Tom? He’s more than willing to give it 110%. 

The more he thinks about it, the more he can picture it. Tom, glowering at everyone, unwilling to play pretend. Harry, sickeningly in love, snuggling against his side and lavishing his adoration in public. Yeah, Harry is definitely ready to do this job. 

* * *

They never actually talk about it, not with Tom sitting in stony silence through all the debriefings. Still, Harry doesn’t need to talk about it though; he _knows_ Tom, has made it his job to study Tom’s body language, microexpressions, and so on. Not to mention, Harry is a damn good field agent if he says so himself, and he’s sure he can handle a simple bodyguard job.

The job is relatively simple, compared to the more stupid shite Harry has had to go through. They are in a diplomatic gathering, and whispers underground say one of the vampire covens is going to make a play for leadership. They don’t need to stop the power play—gods, Harry would never try to go up against a vampire in a fight—but they do need to protect the vampire princess. 

Luna Lovegood does not look like a vampire. Her blond curls bounce as she walks, and she has a brightness of life that is the very opposite of undead. Her feet are bare, not that anyone dare comments on the odd lack of shoes. The dress of black and white glitters of starlight trails behind her as she floats across the gathering. Her left hand holds a cup of liquid, a red so vibrant that no one can mistake it for anything but oxygenated blood.

“Would you like to dance, love?” Harry asks Tom, a sweet smile on his face.

Tom glowers and grudgingly agrees. He insists on leading, and Harry gives Tom that win; one must learn to choose their battles when it comes to Tom Marvolo Riddle. They drift across the floor, slow enough to give Harry a good view of the attendees. He locates several of the vampire covens. Tom no doubt does too, and he moves them so they’re closer to Lovegood.

“Kiss me?” Harry murmurs.

Tom’s eyes promise death, but he presses his lips against Harry’s, a sweet, chaste kiss. Interspecies Relations has spells on the scene to give them an in-depth observation of the gathering, and Harry wonders who sees this and what the ongoing bet is now.

“You two are so sweet,” the solemn voice of their objective tells them. 

Harry beams at Lovegood. “He’s the love of my life. I never believed in searching for immortality, but now, I think I would do anything to spend one more hour with him.”

“Immortality with a partner is nice, but it’s not necessary,” she says serenely. 

He looks at her glass of blood and then her pale, undead skin, and makes his eyes widen in false surprise. “Forgive me,” he gasps. “I didn’t realise—” 

“It’s perfectly fine. Will you tell me how you met? I do so enjoy stories of young love.” 

That is all the prompting Harry needs before launching into his tale. “We met in school, and we hated each other at first sight,” he says brightly. “I’m Harry, by the way. This is Tom. We were never really friends exactly growing up. I liked sports, and he liked books. I thought he was a prat, and he thought I was an idiot.” He talks animatedly about forcing himself to study harder just so he can match Tom’s grades and how that leads to the two of them working together, carefully avoiding any mention of _where_ they work. “One day, I realised that he had become my best friend, and I can’t imagine going through life without him, grumpiness and all, so here we are. He’s been at my side through the hangovers, the stupid things I did, the mistakes I’ve made, and if he’s seen me at my worst and he’s still here, I know I want him with me forever.” 

She giggles at that. Then, all hell breaks loose.

The cross-bolt flies through the air. Harry does the job he was sent here to do. He is fast enough to push Luna aside.

Tom does what Harry has trusted him to do since even before they started working together. He saves Harry’s life. 

The bolt hits him right in the chest, and he falls back, landing on the ground with a heavy _thunk_, unmoving. 

“Tom!” Harry screams.

A glass shatters as it hits the floor. An inhuman snarl fills the air. Time passes by, too fast yet too slow. All Harry knows is he has to keep the shield up until the exfiltration team can get them to safety.

He weakens. His wand hand falters. The shield shatters. Someone tries to pull him away from the body. He resists. A sharp prick in his neck.

The world goes black.

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep._ Harry hates the sound of the incessant beeping because Tom would have too if he were awake. “Good surgery,” the healers had called it. Harry knows the medical team does excellent work, has been on the receiving end of their attention more than once, but he can’t find it in himself to believe them. 

Tom lies on the hospital bed, unnaturally still. Harry has never thought Tom frail before, but that is the only word that comes to mind when he stares at the man. The cross bolt managed to pass through his ribs and strike his liver, a devastating blow. He knows that they are lucky that the exfil team knocked Harry unconscious and got them out just in time. He knows that they are even luckier that Interspecies Relations has some of the best healers across the realms. 

Harry does not feel lucky. “Wake up, you arsehole,” he tells the unconscious man.

Tom does not answer. He always has an answer to Harry’s sarcastic, dry remarks, and the silence irritates him to no end. 

“Mr Potter,” the healer says, coming up beside him, “we were unable to find the name of Mr Riddle’s partner in his file. Do you know who they are so we can get in contact with them?” 

Harry swallows. “I know who he is,” he rasps. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

The healer nods and pauses. “It wasn’t your fault,” she tells Harry.

“He’s an analyst. He shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

The silence stretches on. Harry hates it.

* * *

By all means, the healers should kick Harry out. They don’t. There are murmurs about how sad it is that Tom’s partner never showed up, and they let Harry stay out of pity. He hates that too but not enough to budge for more than ten minutes to go to the bathroom until Tom wakes up and kicks him out. 

Harry comes back because he’s never walked away from a challenge. He’s there when Tom is on a liquid diet. He’s there when the healers report complications, and Tom is wheeled away. He’s there when Tom starts physical therapy.

It’s not a surprise that the healers ask him to accompany Tom home when Tom is finally allowed to leave the premises. Tom’s reputation as a misanthrope has gone down the drain, and the care team lavishes attention on him, partially because they worry about Tom’s partner, or lack of. 

Harry takes Tom home. There is a gift basket on the doorstep, and Harry steps over it to unlock the door and help Tom in. Once Tom is stable on the sofa, he goes back for the gift basket. “It’s from Luna,” he calls out.

A vampire’s idea of a gift basket is…odd. There are turnips, garlic, blood pops, garlands of nightshade. Still, it’s the thought that counts and Harry sets it on the coffee table. He pulls out his communications device and starts typing a message.

“What are you doing?” Tom asks. There is a hint of tiredness in his voice, but it’s not so bad that Harry wants to rush him to bed. That’s a battle he’ll wage in an hour or two. 

“Messaging the Voldemort alert,” he says absently. “They deserve to know you’re on your way back to terrorising them.” 

Tom snorts. “That bloody thing.”

“I have a present for you too.” 

He arches an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

Harry darts upstairs and grabs the forms he’s printed out and filled in a haze. He stops briefly to put on the ring he only wears when he’s at home, an old sign of possession and commitment Tom insisted on, the romantic bastard. 

“Did you do your paperwork on time for once? What a gift.” Injury has not dulled Tom’s sarcasm at all, and Harry loves him even more for that. 

“Just look at it.” 

Tom recognises the form instantly. “This is IR238-47.b.” 

Harry nods. “I know when we started, both of us were trying to…make our own way, and yeah, you know, but it’s been years, and they can’t accuse us of trying to manipulate the system or whatever anymore.”

“Agreed.” Tom flips through the pages and scrawls his name on the empty lines. His formerly perfect handwriting is marred by a shaky hand, and it hits Harry again how close he came to losing his husband. 

The thought drives him to curl up on the sofa, pressing against Tom as much as Harry dares. “I meant everything I said, you know. You’re the love of my life, I can’t imagine life without you, and don’t you _dare_ do that to me again.” 

Tom sets the pen down and settles his hand on Harry’s side. “You’re an idiot if you think I regret stopping you from getting shot.”

“What happened to the spiteful arsehole I knew in school? When did you learn altruism?” 

“Probably the same time you learned how to read.” 

They bicker until Harry finally reassures himself that Tom is safe and sound at home. 

* * *

The rumour mill at Interspecies Relations is ridiculous, and Harry could just wait for word to spread about them filing the relationship, cohabitation, and marriage paperwork. 

He has never been one for patience. 

On Tom’s first day back at work, Harry climbs the stairs and kisses his husband senseless outside his office. Technical Services is dead silent. Seven analysts faint, each hitting the ground with a heavy thump, one after the other. 

Harry pulls back and stares into Tom’s dark eyes. “I love you,” Harry says. “Don’t die.” 

“Never.” 

He walks out of the department with the sound of the Voldemort alert pinging repeatedly as people rush to gossip about what they just saw.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](https://bluepandawrites.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
